


My Love Is Messy, But It Is Still Love

by Shaye



Category: Andi Mack - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, episode by episode
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 17:47:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10313678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaye/pseuds/Shaye
Summary: "And she loved a little girl very, very much--even more than she loved herself."An exploration of Bex's emotional turmoil and inner monologue throughout the series.  *NOW A SERIES*





	1. Thirteen

**Author's Note:**

> This show took me by surprise (in a very good way). I loved all the characters, Bex especially, and immediately had to delve further into her character. I hope you enjoy this!!

“Why did you do this to me?” Andi says, steaming, walking away from the field as quickly as possible.

 

“Do what? What did I do?” Bex asks, her words garbled at the speed, the urgency, of her voice. The utter confusion she has at the anger after a present well-gifted.

 

“This! This whole thing. I just made an epic _ fool _ of myself.” She’s angry, that much Bex can tell, but her logic makes no sense: she wasn’t a fool at all.

 

“Ah, not the part that I saw. You were amazing, and Jonah Beck--”

 

“Has a girlfriend.” She huffs, curling further into herself, arms crossing over her chest. “Who’s in high school! Did you see her?” When Bex turns to get a better look, Andi hisses, “Don’t look now!”

 

Glancing over more covertly, she shrugs. “What? She’s, like, a pretty girl. She’s nothing.” She turns to face Andi, sincerity in her words. “She’s not you.” She wants to add that Andi is the best person she knows--the best person she will ever know. But Andi is quick to disagree.

 

“That’s right. She’s here,” Andi says, motioning to the area above her head, “whereas I am, move your foot, there.” She looks down at the ground with a determination that scares Bex. “Where you were just stepping on.”

 

Bex shakes her head in protest, her stomach plummeting to the ground. Andi was so much more than that. “Hey, stop. You obviously can’t see yourself.”

 

“But you can?” Andi scoffs. “Okay.”

 

Bex continues to shake her head, chasing after Andi. This wasn’t what she wanted for her daughter. This wasn’t why she left or forced herself to stay away or why she allowed herself to think her daughter was better off without her. She wanted her daughter to have the life she could never give. She was a child. A reckless, irresponsible teenager who, even now, still hasn’t learned to grow up. Anything had to be better than her. Her parents were willing to be those people. The people who would drop anything for Andi; the people who could raise a child; they could keep her safe and loved and on the right track. She wasn’t that person. And, yes, she knew that her mother readily agreed because she wanted a second chance at the daughter she never got, but, for her daughter, she would accept it. She would accept that her mother never approved of her and her father loved her dearly, but had little faith in her parenting abilities. She could accept that Andi would call Celia ‘Mom’ and herself, ‘Bex.’ She knew this. However, she wasn’t ready for this part. The part where leaving her behind was not all sunshine and rainbows. Where, in some cases, maybe she could have been a better parent, a different parent, than the ones she gifted Andi to.  _ Could _ have been. “You were raised to think you have to be perfect, but you don’t. If you made a fool of yourself, you know what, that’s good.”

 

“Good? It wasn’t good. Trust me.”

 

“That’s the point. You need moments like these. They’re the moments you remember. They’re the moments you learn from. They become the funny stories you tell about yourself when you meet someone new.”

 

“That’s you. That’s not me.”

 

“Not yet, I’m trying to help you.” 

 

“I don’t need your help,” she grumbles. She doesn’t want her older sister’s charity. After all, it may as well be a lost cause. Maybe awkward isn’t just a phase.

 

“All I’m saying is that I’ve been there and I know how you feel.”

 

“No, you don’t. I’m not like you. I’m not cool or adventurous. I’m not one of those people in your memory box. Those are the people you know. I’m just a girl you send scarves to.” 

 

Rebecca stares in her direction. Andi hadn’t meant to wound, but she stomps off regardless. It’s true, isn’t it? She can’t have half a sister, any more than she can have half a friend. Bex could have been her saving grace. A sibling with wisdom and fun stories. Someone to get her mom to let loose and order pizza on Tofu Monday. But she wasn’t. And she isn’t.

 

* * *

 

Bex sighs as she thinks for the hundredth time in the span of six hours about what an utter screw-up she is. Andi was right. She didn’t know her anymore than she knew Andi. She spent so much time running that she missed out on what could have been the best thing in her life. Scratch that: the best thing in her life, period.

 

After Andi left, she had made her way back to her childhood home slowly, trailing just far enough behind Andi to keep an eye on her, while also giving her space. She had wrapped her arms around herself, the familiar feel of leather bunching under her fingertips. Once Andi was safely inside her home, she grabbed her helmet and took a ride. A ride to nowhere, but a ride nonetheless. Something to clear her head and calm her racing thoughts. She could, after all, use a break from the constant stream of negativity parading through her head. All the looks of pity and disgust she received while pregnant, all the comments her mother made about her inability to make herself into anything, all the times she could have spent with Andi and didn’t. It was a never ending cycle.

 

She shakes her head from the memories, stifling the need to cry. If anything, this proved that she was better off not ruining Andi’s life. One day and she has already made an ass of herself. She had already hurt Andi and that’s without dropping major truth bombs on her. She grabs her graying duffel and starts packing the few belongings she’s removed during her short stay. Just as she’s packing her final tee shirt, the door begins to creak open, light spilling in. 

 

Looking up, she mumbles, “Oh great. I woke you. This has been a banner day,” she mutters. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving first thing in the morning.”

 

Andi quickly reaches an arm out, lightly touching her shoulder. “No, Bex, don’t go. I don’t want you to. I take back what I said. Every word of it.” She’s so sweet, so innocent and hopeful in this moment that it absolutely breaks Bex’s heart. She wants Andi to have that childish innocence, that naivety, for as long as possible. She wants her to be happy. 

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“But can I? Please, because you were right. These are the moments I’ll remember. Jonah Beck texted me. I don’t even know how he has my number.” Andi is beaming and it’s enough to make Rebecca crack a smile. Maybe there is one thing she can do right. 

 

She grins. “Don’t be mad but I gave it to him.”

 

“You did?” Andi furrows her brows.

 

“But he asked for it, though.”

 

“He did?” Andi is practically beaming and Bex will do anything to keep that smile on her face. “Jonah Beck asked for my number. That’s an amazing sentence, I need to say it again. Jonah Beck asked for my number.”

 

Bex chuckles. “I’m just glad you’re happy.” And it’s the truth. The pure, unadulterated truth. The only truth she’s ever lived by.

 

“So you’ll stay.” It’s a statement, not a question.

 

Bex holds her breath. She wants to make it true, but she can’t. One positive reaction does not make up for a lifetime of deception. “I can’t.”

 

“Yeah you can. Everything’s okay.”

 

Bex shakes her head, zipping up her bag. She knows that, if Andi is anything like her, she won’t give up until she gets a satisfactory answer. They’re stubborn like that. “Give me a minute and it won’t be.”  _ You’ll be happy I’m gone once you know. _

 

“These are the moments you’ll remember,” Andi says, steady and sure. Bex tilts her chin at the tactic being used. “I’m just quoting you.”

 

“Well, I’ve made too many mistakes.” Rebecca looks down, unable to meet her daughter’s eyes.

 

“When?”

 

“Today.”

 

“No you didn’t! That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

 

Rebecca continues, deciding to further clarify her statement. “And yesterday. And the day before that.” She pauses, finally looking into Andi’s bright eyes. The eyes that so closely mimic her own. “And every single day of your life.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Andi asks, now quiet. “You’re scaring me.”

 

Bex turns, chuckling lightly at the absurdity of it all. “You should be scared.”  _ Scared to have someone like me in your life. To have been the one to give you life. _ She grabs Andi’s hands, holding them tightly as she savors the tiny connection. “Do you think that you’re not in here?” She moves to grab the wooden box, her diary in a world so upside down she doesn’t know left from right anymore. “You are.” Carefully, she undoes the latch, opening the box as Andi peers over in unmasked curiosity. And, with a shaky breath, she pulls the faux back off the box and delicately pinches an aged photo, pulling it up for Andi to see. She doesn’t need to see the picture to know it by heart--she has spent many cold, lonely nights staring at the photo with tears in her eyes. She could say that her hair was an obnoxious shade of red, growing a bit into her eyes because she was in desperate need of a hair cut. She could tell you that her body was small and worn, but her eyes were bright. And the little baby in her arms? Sleeping peacefully, snug and warm and content, unaware of the complexity her life would soon become. 

 

“Is that you?” Andi squints, leaning closer.

 

Blowing out another breath, Bex nods. And, with a shaking finger, she points to her little bundle of joy. “And that’s you.” She sees Andi tilt her head in confusion, in interest, so she barrels on. She has to tell her before she puts the pieces together herself. “Andi, I’m not your sister.” Those doe eyes look up at her and her confidence falters. She continues anyway.  “I’m your mother.” 

 

And she can honestly say that she didn’t mean for it to come out this way. Not that she really knew how she wanted it to come out in the first place. But definitely not in the way it did. 

 

Not at ten o’clock at night, in her childhood bedroom made home gym made guest room. Not when it’s dark and the mood is ominous and the entire conversation is completely unplanned. Not when she hasn’t worked out an arrangement with her parents or righted her world again. Righted her world for the sake of Andi.

 

But it was all too much. Being back is too much. Her  _ guilt  _ is too much. 

 

“You’re my what?” Andi’s in her face now, scowling in a way she hasn’t previously been privy to.

 

“Your mother?” Bex stutters, her voice raising in question. “I’m your mother,” she says more firmly. 

 

“Mom! Mom!” Andi is screaming now and suddenly the Jonah Beck incident is seeming like heaven compared to now. Her thoughts are spiraling and she really didn’t think this through. She knew that, logically, Andi would be upset and angry and confused and a vortex of emotions, but she wasn’t prepared for the real thing. She was prepared for Andi casting her out of her life. Not the stuff in between--the figuring it out stuff. And she really wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of emotions that hit her as well. The relief, the fear, the sadness, the crippling anxiety as she waited for a resolution.

 

Instead of all the thoughts swirling around her head, she gets out a, “No, please, she’s going to be so mad.” It’s easier to deal with that than the impending doom that is her relationship with her daughter.

 

Andi points to her as Celia runs in, concern written all over her face. “She says she’s my mother.”

 

“Ham!” Celia is red in the face, tears ready to burst. Bex isn’t sure whether they’re from shock or anger or both. She knows her mother did not want her back, want her home. She knows that Andi is a success in her mother’s eyes if she is not around. She is Rebecca 2.0 and Celia’s greatest accomplishment. With that, Bex only continues to spiral.

 

“So this is all true?” Andi is incredulous, and Bex can’t blame her. In just a few words, Andi’s world was turned upside down. Her sister is her mother and her mother is her grandmother. Everything Andi has known to be true is a lie. And everyone in her life was in on it. And regardless of whether or not Bex had thought it was for the best, it’s clear that she may have just ruined Andi’s life. 

 

“You had no right.” And she wants to agree. She really does. But what’s worse? Lying forever or being truthful now? There was never a good way for this elaborate fabrication to end.

 

“It just slipped out.”

 

Within moments, Ham has entered the chaos that is now their life. “What’s going on?”

 

“She knows!”

 

“My brain feels like it’s melting!” Andi wipes her palms over her eyes in an action that seems to try to will the situation away.  _ If only that could wipe away the last thirteen years _ , Bex thinks.  _ Maybe I would have done this differently. _

 

“How does she know?” Ham asks.

 

“I told her,” Bex says, failing to shrug off the relentless guilt. 

 

“You had no right,” he repeats.

 

Andi shakes her head, fingers pointing. She looks to Celia. “You don’t get to be upset.” Turning to Ham, Andi says, “You don’t get to be upset.” Looking straight at Bex, she throws her hands up. “Nobody here gets to be upset but me. Because you all have been lying to me for my  _ whole _ life.” Andi turns to look at each of her ‘parents,’ waiting for a response. Something, anything, that will make this better. But there is no way to make this better. What’s been said and done is the truth, through and through. “I can’t be here right now,” Andi says, her voice cracking ever so slightly. She pushes her way past Celia and out the door, making a mad dash for her Andi Shack. The one place that still feels like home. Probably because it’s the only thing that’s hers and hers alone. 

 

“Andi--” Bex begins, making her way toward the door.

 

She’s stopped by Celia. “No, I should be the one.”

 

“No, please, Mom.” Rebecca looks her in the eyes, pleading with her mother. “It’s my job now.”

 

Ham sighs, nodding along with Rebecca’s statement. “We knew this day had to come.” Granted, he believed it would be later, much later, but it had always been a ticking clock. Their countdown was over and Andi knew. They couldn’t continue to live as though life wasn’t any different. They could only move on.

 

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t know today was the day I was going to lose my daughter,” Celia cries, her heart aching with the unexpected loss.   
  


“I’m standing right in front of you.”

 

Celia shakes her head, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Not you,” she says, missing the look of hurt on her daughter’s face. Or maybe she just didn’t want to see it. Because, if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have to face her past as well. Their past together, as mother and daughter.

 

Bex pushes past her parents, making her way outside and to the only place she can think of that Andi would run to this late at night. Andi is more important than her own demolished mother-daughter relationship. Gently pushing open the door, she sees her huddled child, whimpering slightly. She walks forward, reaching a hand out to place on Andi’s back, until she thinks better of it. She wouldn’t want to be touched right now either. Instead, she tries to prepare for the next conversation. As she thinks, she begins to look from wall to wall, desktop to desktop, smiling in awe. The art is something new and wonderful, something so talented and so ‘Andi’ that she has to smile.

 

“Please, don’t touch anything,” Andi mumbles, finally sitting up.

 

Getting a closer look at a lamp contraption, Bex asks, “Are these my CDs?”

 

Grimacing, Andi says, “Kinda. Sorry.” And with that one word, Bex wants to laugh. She wants to grab Andi’s shoulders and shake her until she realizes that the only person who should be apologizing is her. She’s the one who left. She’s the one who got them into this mess. She’s the screw-up here. But here is her daughter, no more than thirteen years old, apologizing for something as little as CDs. 

 

“Yeah, I’m real torn up I can’t listen to Nickelback anymore,” she scoffs instead. Taking a seat, she sighs as the inevitable topic of conversation is brought to the front burner. “Andi, I’m so, so sorry--”

 

“Stop,” Andi says, angry. She halts her monologue of guilt at the sound, not wanting to make things worse. Andi deserves to talk. Deserves to have happen what she wants for once. “I can’t. It’s too weird. When I look at you, I see my cool sister out in the world having adventures on her motorcycle. But that’s not who you are. You’re my mother. Who abandoned me.”

 

Bex wants to cry, she wants to curl up into a ball and accept her fate, but she can’t let Andi think that for one second she was not wanted, that she was not loved. “That’s not what happened.” She lowers her voice. “Do you want to know what happened?”

 

“No.” Her answer is quick, final. “Not right now,” she says, looking away. Bex can see the turmoil marring her daughter’s features. 

 

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll tell you everything, whatever you want to know.” 

 

“I just want to think about my text from Jonah for a while.” Andi leans into her hand, almost content to think about the miraculous good instead of the uncalled for bad. 

 

“That’s a great idea.” She can only imagine how difficult this must be. So she takes the bargain and stands up, walking toward the door, ready to give Andi some space. “You probably hate me. You probably should hate me. But I’ll always love you and I always have. And you have that whether you want it or not.” She takes one last look at her beautiful little girl before shutting the wooden door behind her. Standing in the dark, the biting chill of the night nipping at her skin, she lets the first tear drop. But just as quickly she wipes it away, scraping her cheeks with her palms, ignoring the twinge of pain, and walks back inside with her head held high.

 

* * *

 

Just as she’s closing the back door, ready to make her way to the fridge for a glass of water, she hears a tiny voice murmur, “It’s okay to cry.” She turns to see her father, standing by the stairs, his lips turned downward.

 

She huffs, shaking her head and continuing her trek to the fridge. “Oh, really?” She asks, grabbing a glass from the counter and placing it under the tap. “I don’t think so.”

 

“And why is that?” He says, taking a seat at the table and folding his hands in front of him. “Your mother is crying.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll probably cry at some point tonight.”

 

She takes a seat across from him, sipping her water slowly. “You guys can. I mean, you lost your daughter.”

 

He shakes his head, reaching out to put a hand over hers. “You’re our daughter.” He gives her a tiny smile, the best he can currently manage. “We didn’t lose you.”

 

“But--”

 

“We never lost you. You’ve always been our daughter.” He takes his hand back, fiddling with his fingers. “And we didn’t lose Andi. She knows she’s not our daughter, but she’s our family. She’s still our little girl.” At the sniffle from his daughter, he continues, “She’s a little girl to all three of us.”

 

Her eyes crinkle slightly; however, she is quick to disagree. “I messed up, Dad,” she whispers. “And I don’t get to cry about that.” She turns her head toward the Andi Shack as she says, “I can’t cry about what I did to myself.” She turns back around. “I can’t cry about what I did to Andi when she’s also crying about it.”

 

He sighs, a long, troubling sigh. “We’ve all made mistakes.” He looks her in the eyes, nodding to affirm his statement. “We’ve made decisions that we thought were best at the time.” He shrugs. “Sometimes life is funny that way. The things that seemed so promising are now your worst regrets.” He tugs her hand into his palm. “We can still be upset though.”

 

“I only wanted what was best for her.” She sniffles. “Still do.”

 

“As did we,” Ham says. “But what’s best for her is always changing. Maybe it was best for her to live with us. But her best has now changed. You knew it was time to be honest with her. And now the best thing for her is for us to be there for her, as a team.” He rubs his thumb over her fingers, gently lulling her into a semi-calm state. 

 

“What if I mess it up again?” Bex asks. “What if I mess things up even more?”

 

He grins, meeting her eyes once more. “Then you’re human. And I know that you will be a good mother.”

 

“What?”

 

“If you worry about those things, then you will be a good mother. You’ll fight to make sure that doesn’t happen.” He stands up, walking over to place a tender kiss to the top of her head. And with a light whoosh of air, his words soft and comforting, he says, “Welcome to motherhood.”


	2. Outside the Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 1, Episode 2: Outside the Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, although this was originally intended to be a one shot, the lovely Anirandom asked me to do a series and I couldn't resist! Thank you all for the lovely comments and feedback.

She’s beginning to think this won’t be as easy as she thought. Not the mother part. She never expected that to be easy--she knows for a fact that mothering is never easy. How could it be? You’re constantly responsible for the wellbeing of another human, a tiny human no less, and that child already means more to you than anyone else in your life. The baby can be smiling, safe in your arms, or a teenager riding a scooter, but the fear never goes away. The fear that something  _ may  _ happen--the fear of loss. The fear of  losing a person you love even more than you love yourself. That’s not to mention the cuts and scrapes of a tackle gone wrong or their first bike ride. Not to mention fights and screaming matches over abandoned curfews and reckless actions. There’s just so much that is hard about being a mother. 

 

The part she didn’t expect to be difficult, though, was the not caring part. The love that’s unattached. The waiting for acceptance, any form of acceptance. She’d been gone for so long, only allowing herself brief visits, never being anything more than Andi’s “big sister.” She respected her parent’s wishes for her to either stay around full time or to only see Andi on preselected occasions, and she had chosen the latter. But it had hurt. It hurt to have her mother push her away and pull Andi closer; it hurt that her mother held Andi every day while her own experiences with Andi were drawing to a close. It hurt, but it was the right thing to do. She needed to give her daughter the best life possible. And if that meant giving Andi to her parents--her responsible, independent, been-down-this-road-before parents--then so be it. And if her mother wanted her out of the picture to do that, then she had to leave. Andi deserved better. So much better than what she was capable of giving her. 

 

So it should be easy, coming back to a place where you’re rather unwelcome and having all your titles denounced. She’s not a sister, or a mother, or a daughter. She’s Rebecca. Sometimes she’s Bex. It all shouldn’t hurt. And yet it does. It’s a sickly feeling in her stomach as it churns, to know that she really has nothing of herself to fall back on. She has no life here. No job, house, pets, nothing. The thing she does have, a family, has practically shut her out. Without that, she doesn’t even know  _ what _ she is, let alone who. 

 

So when Andi smiled and sat on her bed holding their hospital bracelets, she was relieved. Maybe, somehow, this mess would work out. She could be a part of her daughter’s life. And yes, maybe it was selfish to be pushing her way into Andi’s life so quickly, but she couldn’t add that to the list she already had running in her head of her wrongdoings. Being back, she couldn’t bury the guilt and drown it in traveling and the occasional drunken night when it became too much. Here she knew Andi; she saw Andi every day. She couldn’t ignore what was right in front of her.

 

“So what happened? Did you tell Buffy and Cyrus?” She asks, placing another plate on the table. She’s pushing, that’s clear, but it’s the hope that shines through in her voice. Of checking off another person she has to hide from. Two people to be exact.

 

“No,” Andi says, a look of embarrassment coming over her face.

 

“Andi,” she moans. She takes a deep breath, cutting off her stream of words. This isn’t about her: this is about Andi. 

 

“I tried.” Andi lets her shoulders sag. “But I only got to the part about  _ you-know-who _ .”

 

“Who?” Suddenly she’s interested again, slightly confused, but interested nonetheless. 

 

Andi looks up. “Jonah.”

 

“Why is there a part about Jo--you-know-who,” she quickly corrects. Andi relaxes her shaking head and brings her finger closer to her chest. Bex stifles a smile. Because it’s a start: something Andi trusts in her, even if it is only a crush.

 

“Because I had to tell them the whole story,” Andi says, walking closer to Bex. “It’s not like I could start a story by saying my sister’s my mother and my mother’s my grandmother.” 

 

“I’m not your grandmother!” Celia calls from the kitchen. And there it is: the inevitable. The fact that it is hard to go through this process. Andi is still coming to terms with the implications, the entire family is, and her naive hope is rearing its ugly head yet again. She can’t hope for this to be normal, a smooth endeavor of steps forward; it is not easy, it’s strange and uncomfortable and just a little bit awful. There won’t just be happiness and hugs and family reunions; there will be fights and tears and a step backward here and there. That is life, specifically, a life she chose. Not that she’d change it. She knows it was right at the time. But it is still a life she chose. She tunes back in to the end of a conversation, hearing her father get his new name, “Pops.”

 

“See, change doesn’t need to be hard.” She tries to relate. She’s learning how to do that now. “But, I get it. It’s complicated.”

 

“Complicated? Buffy and Cyrus can barely comprehend that I’m doing an after school sport.”

 

Bex tilts her head, intrigued by the information she’s receiving. There is so much she doesn’t know about this girl. A few days before, Andi looked like a natural--she picked up the sport so quickly. And yet somehow this is a huge thing for everyone else to accept. What she knows about her daughter are pieces taped together, a whole picture waiting to be finished. A collage with missing pieces or a puzzle without the box.

 

“Who’s hungry?” Ham asks, pulling Bex from her thoughts. Or her downward spiral.  _ It’s more fitting for the circumstances _ , she thinks.

 

“Me.” Andi walks around to sit beside Celia, a routine tried and true as far as Bex can tell. She takes her seat, shaking slightly at the memories sitting at this table bring back, as her father takes his usual seat beside her...or at least what was once his usual.

 

_ “She’s too young to be making these decisions!” _

 

_ “I’m thirteen!” Bex says, stabbing her baked potato with her fork. “I just want to go on  _ **_one_ ** _ sleepover.” _

 

_ “You’re too young.” Celia turns back to Ham. “She’s too young.” _

_   
_ _ “But, Mom--” _

 

_ “--This discussion is over. Go to your room. You have a test tomorrow.” _

 

She shakes herself from the memory.  _ If only they knew all that would happen within the next two years.  _ She feels her father place a comforting hand over hers and she spares him a tiny smile. “It is so great to have you home.” He pulls his napkin into his lap. “The whole family under one roof. It’s been too long.”

 

Bex nods. “And it feels really great to have everything out in the open. Finally.” She lets out a breath, refusing to argue with her mother’s “Wonderful.” “Well it feels great to me. This is my first family dinner as your mom,” she says, facing Andi.

 

_ “Can we just sit down for dinner?” Bex asks, holding her head in her hands, trying to burrow her way into the couch and, if she’s lucky, maybe even disappear. _

 

_ “Is she serious?” Celia turns to her husband. “She can’t be serious.” _

 

_ “I’m right here, Mom.” Bex pulls her hands away from her bloodshot eyes.  _

 

_ “Are you?” her mother scoffs. “I don’t know what you’ve turned into lately, but this is not  _ **_my_ ** _ daughter.” Needless to say, family dinners were discontinued after that night. They weren’t intended for a soon-to-be family of four. _

 

She smiles, shooting a grin Andi’s way. Baby steps. 

 

As she turns back to her food, she catches her mother grinning, a secret held behind her eyes. “Albany,” Celia says.

 

“Albany. I don’t know what that means,” Bex speaks up, trying her best to roll with the flow. She is the guest. She is the outsider. She puts a spoonful of broccoli on her plate.

 

“Annapolis.”

 

“Atlanta.”

  
The pit in her stomach deepens, the feeling of ineptness personified. “Okay, that’s not helping.” 

 

“We play memory games at dinner,” her daughter pipes up, a gorgeous smile crossing her face. 

 

“Augusta.” Celia smiles. “Pass the meat, please.”

 

“Austin,” Ham says, passing the meat.

 

“Dibs on the drumstick. Baton Rouge.”

 

She’s spiraling. The dialogue is hard to keep up with, impossible for her to maintain. The routine is evident and she is not privy to it. She’s the third wheel, or the fourth wheel, in a family she is trying to join once more. She is spiraling. 

 

_ “I don’t think I want to do the spelling bee this year,” Bex says after swallowing her last bite of spinach. _

 

_ “Why not?” Ham asks. “You’ve done it every year. It’s a tradition.” _

 

_ “I don’t know.” She pushes the chicken around on her plate, keeping her head down. “It’s just,” she shrugs, “there’s an art club this year and I really want to do that.” _

 

_ “Well, you can always do both.” He shoots her a smile. _

 

_ “But I don’t want to do both.” _

 

_ “Sweetie,” Celia says, her tone loving but firm, “school has to come first.” _

 

_ Bex looks up, quick to agree with her mother. “I know. I do. And all my grades are good. Mrs. Carter even said my poem was the best in the fourth grade.” As her mother smiles, she lets out a breath of relief, the corners of her lips pulling up as well. _

 

_ “So you understand what I’m saying?” Celia checks. _

 

_ Bex nods. “School comes first.” She puts another piece of chicken in her mouth. “This is going to be so much fun.” _

 

_ “Do not speak with food in your mouth,” Celia chides, handing her daughter a napkin to wipe her mouth.  _

 

_ “Sorry.” _

 

_ “Thank you.” Celia clasps her hands in front of her, a bright grin on her face. “Should we get to practicing then?”  _

 

_ Bex swallows. “Practicing what?” _

 

_ “For the spelling bee of course. You need to start practicing early if you want to go to finals.” _

 

_ “But I’m doing the art club.” _

 

_ Celia’s nose pinches. “We agreed that you would do both. School comes first.” _

 

_ “But the spelling bee isn’t school,” Bex says. _

 

_ “It is part of your education,” Celia says. _

 

_ Ham turns to his daughter. “You can do both, right, kiddo?” He smiles and ruffles her hair, not waiting for a response. _

 

_ “So it’s settled. Spell ‘settee.’” _

 

_ Bex looks back down at her plate. “Can you use it in a sentence?” she mumbles. _

 

“Memory games at dinner. Mom, are you serious?” She whines, scrunching her nose in distaste. Too many memories are closing in and all she can do is sit here and be present.

 

“The games were my idea.” Andi shrugs.  _ Great, now I’ve made her self-conscious,  _ Bex groans to herself. _ Really doing a great job at this parenting thing.  _

 

She recovers quickly, but not without Celia’s notice of her mistake. “And I hope you are serious because they’re so fun.” She hopes her words are convincing. “Can I play?” 

 

“Sure,” Andi grabs her glass. “We’re listing state capitals.”

 

Bex smiles. She may not know all the state capitals, but she knows a few. She’s lived in a few. “Phoenix.”

 

“In alphabetical order,” Andi grimaces, careful with her words.

 

“Where were we?” She turns her head toward Ham, now entirely worried about the remainder of this dinner. Now it wasn’t just about not knowing things about her family, it wasn’t being good enough for them either. 

 

“Baton Rouge,” he whispers. She murmurs her assent, picking her brain for capitals. 

 

“Um, can I have a minute?”  _ Capitals. Capitals. Capitals.  _

 

“No,” Celia says airily. “You missed, you’re out.”

 

“Oh, come on! Give me a second chance.” Bex says, her voice rising with her temper. She throws her hands out. 

 

“I already did.” As if she needs more fire, more hardships, at this very moment. She needs a mother. Not someone who wishes her gone. She needs her  _ mom _ .

 

She’s about to retort when Andi speaks up. “You guys are taking all the fun out of learning at dinner.” She’s annoyed. That much Bex  _ is _ able to tell. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Bex wipes her mouth with her napkin, then sets it neatly on the table. “Play your game.” She smiles. “I have some work to do.” She pushes her chair back and stands up, waving a friendly goodbye. “Have to find a new job. It’s not going to find me itself.” She chuckles. “Good night, guys.” She turns and makes her way up the stairs, slowly and then all at once. She needs to get out of there. She needs to not be the person who left. She needs to not be the person her parents hated. She needs to be anything but who she is. What she doesn’t see in her haste, however, is the look of disappointment on Andi’s face.

 

* * *

“Knock, knock.” Bex turns her head at the sound of her father, stretching out as she does so. She’s been sitting in front of her computer for far too long. 

 

“You know that’s generally an action, not something you say,” she smirks, hoping it covers the pain hiding just beneath the surface.

 

He doesn’t fall for it. She doesn’t blame him. He’s probably one of the few people who really does know her. He walks further into the room and takes a seat next to her on the couch. “It’s late, I don’t want to keep you.” He pats her back. “I just wanted to check in. I know this isn’t easy.”

 

She shakes her head, moving away from him. “This isn’t easy. It’s hard. It is  _ hard _ ,” she repeats, saying each word slowly. “And all this stuff with Mom isn’t helping.”

  
“I know.” He sighs. “I’ll work on her. But I came here to talk about you.” He pats the spot next to him, his eyes begging her to join him. She sits, fiddling with her fingers as she listens to him talk. “This is all very fast. So many things are changing and it’s not always going to be smooth sailing.” He chuckles. “You know it was never smooth sailing with you, either. It doesn’t matter how prepared you are for a baby, for a family, it just happens. All parents face setbacks. Yours have just come a little late.” He tilts her chin up. “Don’t give up because of one setback.”

 

She sighs, a single tear trickling down her face. She pulls away gently, wiping it off as soon as she’s free. “Come on, Dad.” She shakes her head. “We both know it wasn’t just one setback.”

 

He shrugs. “So what?” He looks around the room, his eyes refusing to settle on any one thing. “Do you know how many times your mother and I screwed up? How many times our parents have screwed up? How many times parents everywhere have screwed up?” He turns to face her once more. “Everyone has setbacks and things they wish they did differently. I keep thinking that maybe if I had stuck up for you more, before all this happened, when you were younger, maybe things would be different. Maybe we’d be close and maybe you wouldn’t have left.”

 

“Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten pregnant?” she mutters, more to herself than to him.

 

“No.” He takes her hands in his, giving them a tight squeeze. “I don’t wish Andi wasn’t here. I just wish you had been happier back then. That maybe we would’ve been close.” He kisses the top of her head, then stands up, ruffling the ebony locks like he used to do all those years ago.

 

When he reaches the door, he turns back to say, “Andi wanted you to stay.” He closes the door, a quiet, “ _ I _ wanted you to stay,” slipping out before the door clicked closed.

 

For a moment, in the quiet, she thinks that maybe he’s right. It may hurt to hope, but any kind of hope has to be better than no hope at all. And then she falls asleep. 

 

* * *

She wakes up the next morning to machinery whirring in her ear. She tries to sleep, to ignore the incessant pounding, but eventually gets up. “Mom,” Bex calls, looking over the couch. At the lack of response, she raises her voice. “Mom.” When Celia looks over, her legs slowing slightly, Bex adds, “You’re in my bedroom.” 

 

Celia shrugs, her face all hard lines. “You’re in my gym.”  

 

Bex groans. “It’s six a.m.” She doesn’t understand how her mother, the one who drilled respect and patience and all those other virtues into her, can’t understand the issue with this.

 

“Gym opens early.”

 

She sighs, not ready for anything at six a.m., much less a fight. “I’m not even awake yet and we’re already fighting. How is that possible?”

 

“If it bothers you, we don’t have to talk.” 

 

“Oh ever?” She asks before biting her tongue.  _ I’m not going to engage, _ she says to herself.  _ Don’t react. _

 

“I’m not the one that’s complaining.” 

 

Bex takes a deep breath. Of course it wouldn’t be easy. Nothing is ever easy.  _ Andi wanted you to stay.  _ She relents. “Can we try something?” Her mother keeps pumping away, so she walks over and pulls out an earbud. “Can we try something?” She knows she’s tempting fate, the barely-there sense of civility hangs in the balance, but she pushes through. When Celia acknowledges her request, Bex begins. “Let’s try to say one nice thing to each other. You just got to come up with one.” She bites the bullet, deciding that she has to try. She has to make the first move. “I’ll go first. You did a fantastic job raising my daughter, and it’s hard to admit,” she steels herself to say the words she knows are true, but that claw at her very being, “but probably a better job than I would have done. And I’m grateful. Very, very grateful.” She lets out a breath, a certain feeling of ease washing over her. It’s not the end, hell it’s barely even the beginning, but she needed to say it. She needed to say it to move forward. 

 

Bex sees the corners of her mother’s lips curl slightly, and that is enough. That is one less thing to have hanging over their heads. The awful renditions of what-ifs. “I was going to say I like how you do your makeup.”

 

Bex clenches her fists, her fingers slowly closing, as she counts to ten. It doesn’t exactly clear the air between them and it isn’t anything substantial, but she is willing to take it. She is willing to let that be the start. “That’s a compliment and I’ll take it.” She smiles, remembering reading a magazine article about how smiling actually makes you happier, and continues. “See, we can get along if we want to.”

 

Celia nods, a small concession. “Yeah, so it seems.” She makes her way back to the elliptical, climbing up and resuming her vigorous workout.

 

Before the workout becomes too intense, Bex asks, “What do you say we try for a second sentence?”

 

“Let’s not push our luck,” Celia yells over the blare of her music. 

 

Bex rolls her eyes, but leaves her bedroom, taking her accomplishments and cutting her losses. It’s only six a.m. after all. She has the rest of their lives for progress.

 

However, as she’s getting ready to walk downstairs to find some breakfast--something sugary if possible--Andi sticks her head out of her doorway. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”

 

“Is everything okay?”

 

“I did something bad.” Bex nods, coming closer. This talk of “bad” is not exactly in her comfort zone. She needs concrete. She needs situations. She needs to have dealt with this before.

 

As she closes Andi’s door, her eyes catch on the wooden box sitting on her daughter’s bed. “I took it,” Andi says, refusing to maintain eye contact. “But I didn’t look inside. I wanted to, but that would be an invasion of your privacy.” 

 

Bex’s eyebrows furrow slightly. She’s caught between “I expected this and your rambling is kind of adorable” and “I am the adult and that is personal property.” She finally settles on, “So that makes stealing it okay?” with a joking glint in her eyes.

 

“No.” Andi looks up, meeting Bex’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

 

Bex sighs, the glint morphing into a full-blown grin. “Andi, if you want to look through it, go ahead.” She motions to the box on the bed. 

 

“Really?” Andi asks, jumping onto the bed. She pauses, “Wait, are you sure?”

 

“Yes!” Bex laughs, motioning for Andi to get on with it and to see more “Bex” than most people ever get. She realizes soon enough, though, that this is not that time. Andi flips through the pictures quickly, a look of determination in her eyes that makes Bex tilt her head. She’d predicted this too. 

 

Andi slows, finally meeting her mother’s eyes. Sighing, she asks, “He’s not in here, is he?”

 

“Your dad? No.” Bex moves to lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling of scarves.  “I took him out.”

 

“What?” Andi asks, and Bex can practically feel the disbelief radiating off her daughter.

  
She simply barrels on. “Because I expected you would invade my privacy. It’s an honored tradition in this house.” She rolls her eyes as she thinks of all the times it’s happened. “I’ve had this box since I was your age. Mom opened it once, a little over thirteen years ago, she saw something she didn’t want to see. So she learned her lesson.” She then pushes the memories of that day from her mind. Propping herself up on her elbow, she adds a pointed “And, I learned mine.”

 

Andi nods, her eyes squinting as she tries to make sense of this. “So there is a picture?”

 

“There is a picture.” She smiles, breaking her stern facade. She isn’t mad; she just wants to be clear.

 

“And you’re not going to show it to me?” Andi shakes her head. “How do you think that makes me feel?”

 

Bex decides to play a little, lightening the tense atmosphere. “Oh, I’m guessing as bad as it feels that you haven’t told Buffy and Cyrus yet that I’m your mother,” she teases, standing up.

 

It does the trick: Andi smiles. “I’m getting there.”

 

Bex chuckles. “In my experience, this is a one step process.”  _ And then a downhill spiral _ , but she keeps that part to herself.

 

“Okay,” Andi says, “I didn’t snoop inside your box, but they did. And they found the picture of us. So they know you had a baby, they just don’t know that it’s me.”

 

That throws Bex for a loop. “Who do they think it is?”

 

Andi shrinks into herself, “Your secret baby.”

 

“They think I have a secret baby?” Bex puts her hands on her hips.  _ How is it possible for this story to become any more distorted?  _

 

“Well, you do.” Andi smirks. “Me,” she says excitedly.

 

The enthusiasm is enough to break the building tension. “Then tell them,” she laughs.   
  


But then the darkness is back. The secrets and the lies. Apparently, she’s hit a nerve. “It’s not that easy. It took you thirteen years and you still have secrets you won’t tell me. How long am I going to have to wait to hear those?” And Bex doesn’t have an answer; Andi’s right. She took thirteen years. There’s a lot that still has to be said and a lot to work through. Her and Andi aren’t in a place of sunshine and rainbows right now. She has to live with that.

 

“Easy, easy with those,” Bex says as Andi hastily returns the photos to her box, snapping the lid shut. “Okay.” She takes the box offered to her and follows her cue to leave, hearing her daughter flop onto the bed as she closes the door. 

 

She’s not wanted here.

* * *

She spends the following hours walking around the house, the neighborhood, the park trying to memorize state capitals.  _ Andi wanted you to stay _ . “Helena, Honolulu, Indianapolis,” she chants, finally back in the living room. “Jackson, Jefferson City, Juneau, wherever the fuck that is.” She shakes her head. She’s about to say Lansing when she hears her mother calling for Andi. She hides her notes away, smiling as her family enters the room. “Memory game. Are we playing?”

 

Her mother is unimpressed. “Why wouldn’t we be?” Bex exhales. She’s not going to let it get the best of her. 

 

Ham nods over to Andi. “Andi, it’s your turn to start.”

 

“Hydrogen,” she says dreamily, as if she has never been more content. Bex thinks she should question it, but right now there are more pressing matters than her kid being happy.

 

“Hydrogen?” She shakes her head. “What is that the capital of?”

 

Celia must have read her mind, looking at Andi with barely concealed interest. “Are you okay?”

 

Andi only smiles wider. “Very much so, thank you for asking.”

 

Celia chuckles. “Helium.”

 

“Lithium,” Ham says, sharing a laugh with his wife. This is definitely an interesting Andi.

 

“What is going on?” Bex asks, looking from person to person. “I just spent four hours memorizing state capitals.”

 

“Oh,” Ham looks upset, “tonight’s the periodic table.”

 

“Andi, it’s your turn,” Celia pipes up.

 

Bex shakes her head. “Nope, no it’s not.” This is not going to be a repeat of last night.  _ Andi wanted you to stay. _ “It’s  _ my _ turn. I’m here, I’m part of this family, and I am playing the dinner time memory game.” She leans back in her chair, hands crossing over her chest. She’s frustrated, but relaxes as she sees Andi’s smile across from her. She really does want her there. “Which is what again?”

 

Celia answers this time, “Periodic elements in order of their atomic number.”

 

Bex nods, then turns to her father. “And you said?”

 

“Lithium.”

 

Bex moves her hand to her temple, rubbing the area in hopes of jogging her memory. Chemistry had never been her favorite subject. “Oh, come on periodic table, I know you’re up in here somewhere.” She’s turning away from her mother’s waiting stare and toward her father when she sees it. The little, folded piece of paper pointing in her direction. She looks back up, trying to be discrete. “Beryllium?”

 

Andi’s face lights up. “Yes!” 

 

“Yes?” Bex asks, jumping up in her seat. “I got it right?”

 

“Yes!” Andi says again, and Bex wants to see this excitement on Andi’s face every day. Knowing she put that smile there, now that’s even better.

 

“You are still in the game,” her father says, smiling through his words. 

 

“That’s all I want.” He hands her his cheat sheet, then gives her hand a little squeeze. “Is to still be in the game.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Requests? <3


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